Replacement Baby (9 page)

Chapter Fourteen

Lionel paid for
a cab to take them to the beginning of Abbotsford Road, which lay to the East of the town of Kettering and the village of Eldershire. Vast fields sloped down, dotted with trees. Among them were cottages and barns here and there.

“We should walk,” Rose had suggested earlier. “We may see a name on a mailbox or on a sign above the door. These are things we might miss if we are driving.”

Lionel agreed, even though he had reminded her that the road was probably long. They began their trek, talking along the way. The first cottage looked abandoned, and the next one had the name “Hendrick” on the mailbox. They passed several signs bearing other names, including Smyth, Watson, Anderson, and Pennington.

The next cottage had no name on the mailbox or the house to identify it. The roof sloped down and the windows were diamond shaped. It was made of worn grey stone.

“Should we knock on the door?” Rose asked with hesitation.

Lionel shrugged. “I guess so.”

They walked up the winding dirt path and down a slight hill to the front door. Rose took a deep breath and raised her hand to knock hard on the door.

No answer.

She knocked again, this time harder. Still, no one came to the door. There were no signs of life from inside.

“Could we check back here later, maybe?” she asked.

“Of course,” agreed Lionel.

They continued on. The road became dusty. Soon Rose’s ankles and legs were covered in dust, as well as her shoes. The day became warm and her hair was soon plastered to her face and her clothes stuck to her skin.
Of course, I look disheveled to meet my birth mother,
Rose thought with disappointment. She glanced over at Lionel, who appeared to be equally dusty and sweaty.

The next building was a barn, and the one after that had a family name on the mailbox. They passed a dairy farm and an abandoned stone house. Up ahead, they could see a small, plaster-walled cottage on the right, which was set near the road. Rose quickened her step. She felt drawn to this quaint cottage, which was only a couple yards away from the dusty road they walked on.

Rose knocked firmly on the door. A minute later, an older woman with messy white hair and a stained apron pulled open the door with a loud creak. She squinted her eyes at Rose.

“Yes, can I help you?” she asked with skepticism.

“I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am,” Rose said. “But we are looking for the author, L.G. Jenner. Does she live here?”

“Hmph, author,” the woman muttered. “Yes, I think I do recall some author lady living near here,” she said, more loudly this time. “If you go down the road about half a mile, there should be a small cottage with a flower garden in front. It’s on the left and it’s beyond a patch of trees. It’s set back from the road, so you have to be looking for it. It’s quite hidden, you see. I believe that is where the author lady lives.”

“Oh, thank you, ma’am!” Rose said, smiling.

“Now, I’ll warn you,” the woman continued. “I have heard that she likes to keep to herself. She doesn’t welcome visitors. So she may not even answer the door for you. She’s not as pleasant as I am. When I heard you knocking, I stopped my canning to come here and speak to you two.”

“We are sorry to take you away from your canning!” Rose apologized, her voice filled with excitement at the information from the woman. “Thank you very much for the information!”

Rose practically skipped down the road when they set off again. She quickened her pace, determined to find the cottage tucked behind a patch of trees with a flower garden in front. She no longer minded the dust or the sweat.

“Rose, I don’t want you to get your hopes up,” Lionel cautioned. “That lady said she
believes
that’s where the author lives.”

“It has to be it. It has to!” Rose exclaimed. “She spoke so specifically about this little cottage. It has to be.” Rose’s walk turned into a jog.

“Hey, wait up!” Lionel called after her.

Together, they tromped across the dusty road. They went up a hill and then down. As they walked, the road curved slightly. They stopped for a few moments beneath the shade of a large tree.

“I wish I had some water,” Lionel noted.

Rose nodded in agreement.

“Maybe we can find a brook nearby,” suggested Lionel.

“A brook?” asked Rose. “Like, a stream? Drink water from a stream, just like that?” Her eyes grew wide.

Lionel laughed. “Oh, Rose, you are such a city girl. The water is clean here in the country.”

“Oh,” said Rose, feeling slightly embarrassed.

They left the shady area and walked down an embankment, where they soon heard the trickle of a brook. They followed the sound until they found a dip in the land nearby and a narrow stream winding through it. They cupped their hands and took large, quick gulps of water. Washing the dust off their legs and feet, Rose and Lionel splashed around in the cool, shallow water. When they were through drinking, they continued to walk down the dusty road. The sun kissed Rose’s cheeks and nose, and she felt as if more freckles were about to appear on her already dotted face face. She shielded her eyes from the brightness of the sunlight with her hand as she viewed the landscape.

They climbed back up the embankment and walked back onto the dusty road. Rose’s legs were getting tired, but she pressed on. Her determination was giving her strength with each step she took.

“We’ve walked almost half a mile!” Rose exclaimed. “Where
is
it?”

“Let’s look carefully, now. She said that the house was hidden,” Lionel responded, motioning toward the countless rows of trees.

Rose and Lionel scanned the scenery. Seeing nothing, they continued walking. Their walk seemed endless, but they persisted. The sun was high in the sky and it beat down on their shoulders.

“Look, Lionel!” Rose said, pointing to the left. “Do you see something on the other side of those trees over there?”

Lionel squinted. He shaded his eyes with his hand. Slowly, he began nodding.

“Yes, I do see something,” he answered with excitement.

Rose took a deep breath. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this,” she whispered, hugging her shoulders.

“Of course you are,” Lionel said comfortingly. “This is the moment you’ve been waiting for.”

“I know, but what will I say?” Rose asked. “I’ve thought about it so many times, but I still don’t know what I’ll say. This is all so strange. I have no clue what I’m doing. What if I say the wrong thing?”

“I’d say, just bring it up gently,” Lionel told her. “Ask first about her daughter, Rose. Then bring up that you think you are that very same Rose. Tell her what you found in the hidden box. I guess this is all harder than any advice I can give you.” Lionel said, putting his arm around her shoulders. “But I’ll be here. I’ll be here right next to you. We
are
friends, aren’t we?” Rose nodded and he continued. “Well, friends are there for one another. Don’t worry, Rose. You’ll find the words to say when the time comes. I know you will. You are braver than you think, really.”

“Thank you, Lionel,” she replied. But she still felt a nagging nervousness. Her head began pounding.

“Now let’s go down this path here and figure out if this is even the right place,” Lionel suggested, starting toward the cluster of trees.

“It is,” said Rose. “I know it is. It has to be.”

They walked down a dirt path, which was slightly overgrown. After a short while, they came to the patch of trees. The path was winding through the tree cluster. After the trees, they could see the little cottage, which had a bright and colorful flower garden in front of it. The place was neat and tidy in comparison to the overgrown path. It truly did look like a picture on a calendar or an illustration in a children’s book.
It’s absolutely perfect
, Rose thought happily to herself.

Rose marched up to the door and knocked loudly and with confidence.
This is it,
she thought, still in disbelief that she was actually here, about to meet her birth mother. Her heart pounded wildly and she began to shake, but Lionel was there with his hand on her shoulder.

Chapter Fifteen

There was no
answer. Rose knocked again, harder this time. Nothing. Once more, she knocked. This time, she heard stirring from the other side of the door. It sounded like two pots clanking together and a chair scraping on the floor. With persistence, Rose knocked again.

Rose heard more sounds. She waited. She thought she saw the curtain at the window beside the door flutter, but she couldn’t be sure. She waited several minutes. Then she knocked again.

“Who is it?” Asked a soft, suspicious sounding female voice from the other side of the door.

Rose paused for a moment, not sure of what to say. “My name is Rose Porter, and this is my friend, Lionel Douglass.”

“What do you want?” Asked the voice again. The tone of the woman’s voice was almost rude, but still kind in a strange sort of way.

“I read your book about Rose who lives in the countryside,” Rose said suddenly, before even really realizing what she was saying. “I just love it. I was wondering if you could please sign my copy?” Rose was thankful that she had the book in her purse.

Ten seconds passed. Then the door opened, ever so slowly. In front of them stood a tall, slender woman with brown curls, which had strands of grey in them here and there. Her eyes were green and her face showed signs of age. It was a kind face, though the eyes were full of pain.

“I don’t usually have readers come to my house,” the woman said with a slight bit of annoyance. “I’m surprised you were even able to find me.”

Rose just smiled. She held out the book with a pen.

“Pleased to meet you,” Rose said politely.

The woman took the book. “What was your name again?”

“Rose Porter.”

The woman scribbled something onto the book and handed it back.

“Enjoy your book,” the woman said. She started to close the door.

“Wait!” Rose cried. “Please, wait.”

“Yes?” said the woman.

“I don’t know how to say this, but I wanted to ask about your daughter, Rose.” Rose spoke fast because she was so afraid.

The woman’s eyes grew wide. Her mouth hung open in shock, and she began to slowly shake her head.

“I-I don’t have a daughter,” she stammered. “I have no children.”

“I’ve read the newspaper articles,” said Rose. “I know about Rose.”

“I think it’s time for you to go now,” the woman said firmly, beginning to close the door again.

“Please, don’t!” Rose begged. “
I
am Rose. I’m Rose Garnet Jennings, your daughter.”

The woman stopped. Her eyes filled with tears and her face turned white. “
What?
” she asked.

“I’m Rose,” Rose repeated. “I’m Rose and I’ve been looking for you.”

The woman began shaking her head. A tear streamed down her left cheek.

“This can’t be,” she said. “This is some kind of a cruel trick.”

“It’s not!” Rose protested. “I’m Rose! I’m your Rose!”

The woman shook her head again. “As I said, I think it’s time for you to go.” She slammed the door.

Rose stood before the door in shock. Lionel, who had been silent the entire time, took her hand.
What now?
Rose wondered.

This isn’t how it was supposed to go!
Rose thought mournfully.
She was supposed to call me Rose and reach out her arms to me. We were supposed to sob in each other’s warm embrace, longing for all of the years that we missed together. We were supposed to talk for hours and hours about all that had happened in our lives the past eighteen years.

Rose turned to Lionel. “What do I do, Lionel?” She asked helplessly.

“Well, obviously she wants to be left alone right now,” he said in a quiet voice. He rubbed her arms. “But I have an idea. Let’s write my parents’ address and telephone number in the front page of this book. We’ll leave it here for her. Then she knows where to reach you if she changes her mind.”

“And what if she doesn’t change her mind, Lionel?” Rose asked, her voice filled with sadness.

“She can’t deny her own daughter. Especially not after seeing you in the flesh and talking to you. She had to have sensed that you were genuine.”

Rose smiled. “You think so?”

“I know so,” he replied with an encouraging smile.

“I hope she won’t give up on me,” whispered Rose, trying to shake off the feeling of utter disappointment that was weighing down on her heart. The almost constant feelings of uncertainty about her quest were replaced by a sinking feeling in her chest brought on by the rejection that she had just experienced.

“Come on, let’s head back,” Lionel said after writing the address and phone number on the book and leaving it on the doorstep.

“Okay,” said Rose.

Lionel put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close for a moment before letting go. Momentarily, Rose felt warmth and comfort. The feeling quickly faded as a cool breeze touched her face and brought her back to the gloomy reality that she was facing. After her long search and her chance discovery through an illustrated children’s book, her mother had rejected her.

Together, she and Lionel walked up and down hills and around bends in the road. They saw the same houses and barns. They saw the same fields and trees. The sun hid behind a cloud, which offered some relief from the heat.

They left Abbotsford Road and headed back toward town. They kept their eyes peeled for some sort of shop or hotel where they could call a cab. They finally found an inn after about half an hour of walking. They called the cab and rode took it back to the train station. In silence, Lionel and Rose walked up to the same man that they had spoken to earlier and purchased their return tickets home to London.

Their feet were sore from walking and they were covered in dried dust and sweat. Rose had a large blister on the bottom of her left foot, and another on the side of her right food. To take her mind off the disappointing encounter with her birth mother, Rose thought of how wonderful it would feel to take a shower, slip into a clean pair of pajamas, and put her feet up in bed. In the morning, after she woke up, she would soak her feet in Epsom salts to help ease the pain from her two blisters. Then she might even take a nap. She fell asleep on the train thinking those same thoughts, trying to ignore the pain of rejection that was slowly gnawing away at her heart.